Behind Closed Doors
by semolinapilchard
Summary: A collection of Drabbles written in the 1st person and inspired by an assortment of themes. Each Drabble is a moment between Harry and Severus while alone, hence the title "Behind Closed Doors." SLASH, HP/SS
1. Of Touches and Promises

_This is the first in what will be a collection of SS/HP drabbles. It's called __**Behind Closed Doors**__ as all the drabbles are moments between Harry and Severus while alone. Each theme has two drabbles, one is a moment through Severus's point of view, the other a moment though Harry's._

_This was roughly inspired by a drabble collection by a fantastic author "RaeWhit" who wrote "Snarry Drabble x24". She was responding to a challenge... which I am not doing, but I did find a few of the themes interesting and wanted to write on them, I am also creating a few of my own... and this is what I came up with._

_**NOTE:**__ I did repost this chapter, and added another drabble. I have also deleted the livejournal that I had mentioned originally, it was too much to keep up with…_

_I hope you enjoy._

* * *

**PROMISES**

* * *

"What the fuck does it matter to you?"

"It matters to me. You matter to me, much more than you matter to yourself apparently."

I look at the side of his face as he stares wasted and half aware into the firelight; his features are always the most devastating when he's like this, both vulnerable and weak as he is harsh and cold.

"How much of that shit did you take tonight?" I kneel down next to his chair. I'm frantic; terrified that he'd finally over done it. I find nothing in his hands, nothing in his pockets, nothing… I pull out a tiny half filled bag from between his thigh and the arm of the chair. "Is this all?"

He looks over at me and nods. "Get out Potter."

I gently roll the bag and deposit it into the deepest corner of my back pocket. "Look at me."

"Fuck. Off."

"Look at me!" I'm yelling now, desperate for him to listen, to stop staring into that fire, to feel something other than self pity. But he doesn't. He's just as placid as he was before.

I feel my knees collapsing, and all I want to do is have the man back who used to hold me, be my foundation. I'm in front of him, maybe if I can cross his focus he'll see me, he'll look at me. Maybe he'll come back to me. "Severus look at me! Please. Just look at me."

I reach up and smooth his hair; I stroke his skin with quick shaking fingers. "Severus look at me… Look at me and tell me you remember what we had. Look at me and think about the few happy moments, all the things we said we would do if we came out of this war alive. Remember? Remember all of it, and think about what you're doing by destroying yourself, when you're lucky enough to be sitting here. We're alive Severus, we're both alive."

My face is next to his, my lips next to his ear, I sigh from the feeling of breath next to my neck, it feels so much like it used to. "Say you'll stop. Say you'll stop this… Say it."

I feel him nod, just slightly, and with my fingertips that are still pressed against his cheek, digging crescent shaped indents into his skin, I can feel him crying, heavy silent tears that seem to be pushing out of a part of him that is screaming to be released from a body that is still stone, immobile, unfeeling. Addicted.

"Promise. You have to promise you'll let me help you."

He nods. And as I feel the simple gesture against my face, I let the sobs pour out, deep cries of frustration and devastating relief.

* * *

The mattress below me dips and then stills, echoing the cautiousness and secrecy of Harry on nights like this. My own mattress even trying to deceive me in favor of the more kind hearted of its occupants.

I follow him with my eyes as he silently pulls up his trousers and slips the button into place, and then lifts his trainers off the rug by the laces.

"Are you coming back tonight?"

He turns and stares as me. I doubt he can even see my face.

"I don't know," he says solemnly. He laces his shoes and slips his wand into his waist band. He walks to me and kneels down to place a chaste kiss on my unforgiving lips. "You know why," he whispers. "Don't make this harder."

"Tell me you love me." I feel like a child.

"You know I do."

"Tell me you'll keep coming back." I'm pathetic, not myself. I'm broken

He kisses me then, slipping a hand into my hair and fingering the hairs at the nape of my neck, then with his lips still against me he whispers, "I promise."

I exhale.

* * *

**TOUCH**

* * *

Grading papers together has become a precious and sometimes guiltily pleasurable encounter between us. It started many months ago when I brought him a particularly difficult essay to give adequate advice on, and has bloomed into a fortnightly encounter ever sense.

What I hadn't anticipated however, was the unexpected bloom of a completely different sensation which began to seep through the warm tingle of friendship which had already been silently confirmed.

His hand is so close, inches away, his fingertips rubbing back and forth over the grains in my wooden sitting room table, his fingers long, artful and stained darker at the tips by some potion. The way his knuckles move under his beautifully pale skin in a remarkably hypnotic pattern.

Without much thought, else I lose my momentary confidence, or perhaps it's just gut instinct, or at worst, stupidity – I slip my hand over to lay it on top of his, almost too quickly.

I hope he didn't notice my nerves, the way my hand shook as it fell over his.

I keep my eyes planted firmly on the page below me, praying he doesn't throw me off, all the while relishing the feeling of his hand resting under my palm.

And then to my relief and delight, he slowly moves his fingers apart until my own slip easily between them, and then gently grasps my hand, much the same way, as lovers do.

* * *

"It's freezing here." He says plainly, then wraps his blanket tighter around his arms. His tone is colder than the air.

I shrug. "You get used to it."

He looks around the slightly enclosed greenhouse atrium until he finds a plush green wicker chair, and then pulls it over until it is close enough for conversation, but too far to be intimate. I suck in a breath and try to ignore the rejection. It has been a long time, what am I supposed to expect?

"Is this your mother's atrium?"

"It was. The house elves keep it up now. It doesn't look the same as it once did."

He's silent for a long moment. An owl hoots in the distance and the breeze blows cold air over my cheeks, making them feel taunt. The silence would have reminded me of all the evenings we used to spend in each other's relaxed company if I didn't feel so undeniably on edge being near him once again.

"I'm sorry."

I look over, not sure to what he is referring. "It's alright. The house elves do the best they can. It's the variety of flowers that…"

"No." I stop. "I'm sorry." He looks up at me then, his eyes intense and gleaming. He had been here for nearly three days with Dumbledore, and not for a minute had I suspected that he was anything less than furious at me, and disgusted that he had to be here. Until now.

I shouldn't forgive him. In fact, he shouldn't forgive me. But to lose him again, when he's so close is too painful to subdue. "As am I."

He tries to smile and with shaky legs he stands and comes to kneel at my feet. Without a word he lays his head on my knees, his face and gaze turned toward the growth of forget-me-nots.

The feeling of having him against me once against is breathtaking. I let my hands rest against his head, my fingers caressed by his hair… and he shudders.

* * *

_Thanks again for reading._

_Don't forget to review!!_

_-semolinapilchard_


	2. Of Firsts and Dressing

_This is my second set of drabbles. It took my a long time to get them up, I know, but I have rediscovered my excitement for them and I'm sure you'll see a lot more of them soon._

_These are much more upbeat then the last set ;)  
_

_I hope you enjoy them...  
_

* * *

**FIRST**

* * *

Harry crawls up to his knees on the rickety kitchen chair, the skin between his shirt seam and his jeans delightfully exposed. "Try it."

I smirk, "I'm not sure if I'm more frightened by the food, or the realization that I'm most likely going to allow you to feed it to me."

Harry wiggles his hips and puts his hand against the table, knocking over my wine glass. He's now so close that I could kiss him without leaving the chair. "Try it."

I open my mouth and allow the odd roll to be placed on my tongue by Harry's stubby, youthful fingers.

I chew, and then with a smile I kiss him deeply, assuring that he now shares this strange flavor.

"Your first sushi tastes delicious," he says breathlessly.

* * *

"Do you trust me?"

"Not today I don't." I tell him quietly. I stare at the object on the bed. It's strange and foreign. It's too big, it's just too big. I could never…

"You said that you always trust me." He whispers into my ear. His tone so soothing and liquid that I feel my tense muscles relax and my shoulders sink into his torso behind me.

"I take it back."

He laughs and picks up the long, thick, and dark object. "You'll love it. I promise."

"That's easy for you to say, you're on the other end of this." I look down at it, hovering just below my naked waist. Severus's hands wrapped tight around it, reminding me of its frightening lack of malleability. I swallow over an apple sized lump in my throat. "How about a rematch?"

Severus laughs deeply, his chest vibrating behind me. "And what would happen if you won this time?"

"If I win… We go to bed, and you get rid of that, thing."

"And if I win?" He asks.

"We go to bed, and you get rid of that thing?" I squeak.

He drops it back onto the bed and wraps his arms around me snugly. "You're hopeless at poker Potter, you'd never beat me. And you should never have set such high stakes."

I press my face into his neck. "It's a lesson I'll only have to learn once. Don't make bets while drunk."

"Okay, here's a compromise-" I exhale. "-You do it my way tonight, and then we do it your way, any way you want, tomorrow night." My breath stops cold again. "I wouldn't normally be so generous, but I feel as though I might have taken advantage of your weakened state of mind during that poker game."

"It's not the compromise I wanted... but," I smirk. "I did have something in mind..."

* * *

**DRESSING**

* * *

"Do you really intend to wear that?"

I smooth the long green silk robe, and look at myself in the mirror. "I think I'm going to look damn near sexy Severus, and you know it. That's what's really bothering you, isn't it?"

He smirks and rolls onto his back, I watch him out of the corner of my eye, entranced by how beautiful he looks with nothing more than a sliver of a sheet covering him.

"I am not jealous."

"I never said you were." I say innocently before sitting on the faded wingback chair in the corner to tie on my dress shoes.

"You implied it; you think I'll be waiting up all night thinking about the men who will be looking at you, thinking about what you look like under those robes. And I'll imagine what all the Slytherins will be fantasizing when they see you walk by in that emerald velvet that hugs your torso. Maybe even young Malfoy will notice you; I've heard that he's become quite the image of beauty over the years."

I tie the last lace and with a smile, I walk to the bed and give him a long deep kiss full of tongue and heat. "Of course that's what I'm thinking, and what I know you'll be thinking. But it's the part where you'll be waiting up, imagining what I look like under this robe that is the most divine, not any other man, or that git Malfoy…" I gently bite his earlobe and kiss the skin behind his ear.

"I won't have to imaging too hard." He smirks lazily, his hands caressing my lower back.

I wiggle away. "I'll see you tonight, right?"

He sighs, "I'll be waiting, you can be sure of it."

* * *

As soon as I hear him murmur the incantation and cautiously look down at myself, I know that I' have made the wrong decision, a very wrong decision.

"I feel naked."

Harry grins his exuberant boyish grin and slides his palms up my chest to curl around my neck. "You look hot."

"I look… Naked."

He steps back and looks me over, "This is going to make every guy in the joint stare. They're not used to men with such raw animal -"

"Okay stop. I don't think this is a good idea at all. I don't dance, I don't flirt, and I don't see why we need to go to a club anyway. Don't men like us go to these places to find sex, not to parade who their having sex with?"

Harry reaches up and smoothes my hair with his hands, tucking a piece behind my ear that had fallen out of the long ponytail.

"Men go to clubs for lots of reasons. But I bet that you'll be begging me to take you back after you feel the music vibrating through your legs, and the way your dick feels pressed tight behind this leather." He rubs his palm over my groin, and suddenly I know exactly what he means. "And the way we're going to look together on that dance floor, with dozens of men staring at us, envying us. You're going to fucking love it."

I bat his hand away. "I never beg."

He smiles that wicked smile and reaches up to whisper in my ear, "Ah, I think we both know that's not quite true, don't we Severus?"

* * *

_Thanks for reading, and don't forget to review!!_

_-semolinapilchard_


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